


The Priestess

by misdanbe



Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 12:44:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20639378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misdanbe/pseuds/misdanbe
Summary: put together the pieces and you'll be given more pieces.





	1. Fool's Gold

A thundering crack sounded somewhere behind her, muffled by the crumbling stone walls. She curled up around her package and ducked, just in time for the wave of heat to simply ruffle her hair.   
Blowing the strands of white away from her eyes, she huffed and started up again. 

The Imperial City was truly its own definition of quiet, in the midst of a daedric war.  
Possibly, somewhere outside the walls, outside the borders of Cyrodiil, there was peace. True peace and quiet. Possibly chirping birds, the rush of a stream, the soft and light whistle of grass on the breeze.  
In the City, there was suffering. The booms of weaponry and screams of the innocent, coalescing into cacophony. Crumbling stone and maniacal laughter from the daedra. The crack of bones and rumble of cages. And if one was lucky, they were in the Arena District, where more and more sounds of pain and terror erupted from every corner.  
Or maybe, it was _steel._ Steel, iron, ebony, rubedite, or quicksilver, whatever choice of weapon those heroes carried so triumphantly into the fight. The only sound that meant resistance. Sometimes, it was daedra, and she rooted for them secretly, in the depths of her mind, afraid to hope too much. Sometimes, they fought each other, over their flags, and their territories, and their alliances, and she felt her heart’s blood boil. Couldn’t they tell which was more important? The slaughter of the citizens in the city they came to, or who was on that stupid throne? Truly, her heart rose with a sliver of hope every time she heard a victorious cheer, or the furious clang of metal on metal, but she always forced it back down. No matter what, one day, she’d trip over their body doing her runs. No matter what they were fighting for. No matter their background, and no matter their skill. No use getting joyful now.  
She suddenly dropped to her knees behind a half-wall, heart pounding at the sight of a Xivkyn. _That one’s quiet. Should’ve been more careful._ Listening for movement, she tightened her hold on the sack. Her white-knuckled grip did nothing to soothe the fear._ How far can I run? How fast?_  
“Where are you, mortal?” The Xivkyn cooed. “I _saw_ you.”  
Their footsteps were barely audible, but the shift of pebbles underfoot gave them away. She readied herself to bolt, but before she could, a hand gripped the back of her shirt and lifted her up. The cold skin grazing the back of her neck made her shiver.  
“Ah, I know you. Red sash, white hair.” They chuckled, bringing her to eye level. Their sickly pale blue eyes held no pupils, but enough contempt to burn them both. “The _priestess.”_  
She growled. “Congratulations. Would you like a medal?”  
“Hmm, is it made of your bones?” They chuckled darkly, tossing her to the ground. She dodged crushing the package, hitting her shoulder hard on the path. “Ooh, did that hurt, little healer? Let me see you _bleed.”_  
She raised her head and spat at their shoes. “I’ll warn you, I’m hard to kill.”  
The Xivkyn laughed mockingly, summoning a sword to their waiting palm. “I’ll be thorough.”  
A flash of gold and white. She blinked, and it was gone.  
They lowered their blade to her throat, relishing the kill. She knew she was a known target, but they were obviously enjoying their future bragging rights.   
“Where’s your god now, little priestess?”  
A disembodied laugh. “Where’s _yours?”_

Suddenly, like a fog faded, the golden figure reappeared, and with as much speed as their appearance, they cut through the Xivkyn’s neck. The corpse stalled, before crumpling under its own weight.  
She scooted back in surprise, dodging the fallen body. Her heart thrummed in her chest, but she exhaled in relief. The golden killer, now completely visible and stationary, was offering their hand to her.  
Their glinting armor had the emblem of a lion, helmet imitating their snarling mouth. Their chest plate was intricate, but well-worn, and adorned with white embroidery where the metal stopped. Matching white feathers shot out of their helmet. They were...decorated. Obvious.  
“You okay?” They tilted their head, feathers shaking. “Did they get you any?”  
She frowned, taking their hand. “I’ll be fine.” With a wave of her hand, light covered the shoulder cut and closed. “However,” She sighed. “This shirt needs a little more than magic. Thanks.”  
“No problem.” They took off their helmet. “I’m Tilione. Where y’headed? You need an escort?”  
She froze, heat flushing to her face.  
“...Still okay?” Tilione blinked.  
“You’re...Covenant. No, I don’t want your alliance anywhere near me. Or any of the others, for that matter.” She looked away, glaring. “And you’re obvious. How do you stay alive like that?”  
Tilione snapped, and disappeared. A little puff of black smoke followed her nonexistent hand. “1, 2, 3…” And she reappeared. “Like that.”  
The priestess huffed irritatedly. “Good, you can hide for three seconds. And you’ll be a target the rest of the time. I don’t need you leading them to me or my people.”  
Tilione chuckled. “Understood. I won’t get you killed. What do I call you, priestess?”  
“Dolvarin Merase. You may call me Merase. Or as you do, priestess. I’ll respond to either.” She glared. “But we should not see each other again, target.”  
“Dol-va-rin. Hm.” Tilione grinned. “Pretty. I’ll watch out for you, priestess.”  
“Do not follow me.”  
She laughed, gesturing to the package. “That yours?”  
“Yes. Goodbye.” She glared behind her, and walked off.

Tilione slid her helmet back on, giving a knowing nod. As soon as she rounded the corner, Tilione snapped her fingers again, and disappeared.  
\--  
“Mera, I don’t know.” An old woman pulled at her sleeve. “It’s only been 3 days.”  
“It’s been an entire 3 days. We need more.” She adjusted her sash and put her hand on the door. “I’m a healer, remember? Super hard to kill?”  
“Yes, but if you die, we all die.”  
The priestess sighed. “Necessary risk. You all know the drill. Stay quiet until I return. Open the door for no one. Fight for your life if need be.”  
“Mera…”  
“I’m going.” She pushed open the door, and hit something hard. Out of instinct, she pulled her staff and pointed it at the offender.  
A package, covered in dark fabric and illusioned to look like a rock. With the impact, the spell wore off, and a piece of paper fluttered up. She caught it in surprise, examining the writing.

_Didn’t follow, only waited. The puppy helped. Hope this is useful._

_~ Target Practice_

She felt the heat in her face, moving her thumb from the ink. A smeared smiling face.  
The old woman peered over her shoulder. “What’s that?”  
Dolvarin sighed, dragging it in and kicking the door shut. She sent a dirty glare to the jackal in the corner. “Alkosh, you snitch.”


	2. The Chapel

The chapel hummed with the music of rain, lingering smoke billowing through the halls. It always seemed to smell a bit like smoke in the Kvatch chapel, but tonight it really was the newly-extinguished sconces, she knew that much. The shadows of night ate away at her sole lantern’s light, but with every step, the way became clearer. The halo following her became just a little wider.  
“Thanks for the help.” The figure chuckled quietly. “Never needed a signal to get to the front door before.”  
“Priestess, it’s almost midnight.” A young little face peeked up from a pew. A new recruit. Rosy cheeks, messy hair. Probably not above 21. “Is something wrong?”  
“No, my dear. Go back to sleep.” She smiled, pulling up her hood. “It is not your worry. Duty calls.”  
“Is it…?” They gestured to the old and worn altar. On it, an emblem of a dragon.  
“Yes, it is.”  
They gasped. “Wow…”  
The priestess chuckled quietly. “Go to sleep. I’ll be back before you know it.”  
They nodded, muttered an _Aktoshprotectyu,_ and fell back onto their pillow.  
The lantern flickered.  
“Alright, alright. I’ll hurry up.” She continued her stalk, down to the door. Almost in the same second, a tiny scratch echoed from the other side. “Ah, I see. Visitors. No midnight walk.”  
She opened the door to only a wet jackal, looking up at her and shaking the water onto her boots.   
“Alkosh? Rude!”  
Suddenly, a figure shook the shadows. “I-..I’m-”   
The priestess startled at the noise, swinging her lantern onto the porch. “Who’s there?!”  
A young man stared back at her in fear. His voice trembled when he spoke, hands balling up the dark soaked fabric of his robes. He slicked back his brown hair, to where she could see his hand were spotted with blood and rain.  
“Are you hurt?”  
“I...I didn’t know where else to go.”  
She raised an eyebrow, peering at his robes. A dark thorned rose, outlined in gold. _A Sanguinite?_ “And what’re you running from?”  
The lantern’s halo grew to encompass him, but he remained bashfully silent.  
With a sigh, she swung open the door. “Come in, child. The night is too cold for you to be soaked and outside.” Her voice softened. “What’s your name?”  
He sheepishly stepped through the threshold, visibly shivering. She frowned.  
“My name?”  
“Yes. Your name. Sit here, lower your voice, and let me fix your wounds.”  
He complied, fidgeting with his hands. “I’m...my name is...Martin. I’m not...usually around here.”  
She hummed quietly. “Well, nice to meet you, Martin. Welcome to Kvatch.”  
“Ma’am…?”  
_Polite for a cultist._  
“Yes?” She kneeled, setting her lantern on the floor. “Tell me if this stings.”  
“...Thank you.” He avoided her eyes. “For...not turning me away. I know you know what I am. What I...What I was.”  
She felt a pang of pity. He looked too young to be so scared. “Don’t thank me. I was just called to the door.”  
He raised an eyebrow, and turned to the jackal.  
“No, dear. Thank him.” She gestured to the altar.  
“I…” He slumped. “Not after what I’ve done. I shouldn’t even be allowed in a holy place.”  
The priestess chuckled. “Martin, did you follow Alkosh here?”  
“Is that...?”  
“The jackal, yes.”  
“Yes... I did.”   
“Why?” She started to pat at his head wound. A long scrape, like he’d fallen. Or been struck down.  
“I...didn’t know where else I could get help. He seemed like maybe he knew.”  
She pointedly looked at him for a long second.  
Martin stared back, before he straightened and looked at the altar. “Oh.”  
“There we go.” She chuckled. “When I’m done with you, go say your thanks. I’ll bring you a new set of robes.”  
“You’ll what?” He looked like he’d been struck by lightning. “I could never accept that! Even so, you’ve just met me! I could be dangerous!”  
“Martin,” She stood, picking up the lantern. “You said it yourself. That is who you were.” With a knowing smile, she began to walk off, giving him another pointed look towards the altar. “Time for a change of scenery, no?”  
“I..?” He touched his head. No wound. “Wait. What do I call you, ma’am?”  
“Most of my recruits call me Priestess Merase, but if you’d like, you can just call me Merase. Or Dolvarin. Or Dol. Or Sister, as some do as well. I don’t mind formalities. Whatever works. Now, up on your feet, dear. No moonlight to lose.”  
“Priestess Merase…” He smiled, genuinely. “Thank you.”  
She grinned, waving it away. “Don’t mention it. Now go, quickly. Best to not keep the God of Time waiting.”


	3. Chosen

She sat on the edge of the bridge, looking out at the stretching walls of the Imperial City. The sun’s light glinted on the glittering water underneath her feet, and lit up the pale walls a warm yellow. She hummed contently, enjoying the warmth, the breeze, the peace of her surroundings. If she closed her eyes, she could almost act like it was…  
A cold nose shoved into her elbow.  
“Alkosh, you are _brutal.”_  
The jackal’s eyes shined mischievously, hopping down onto the path. He turned in circles, slowly making his way towards the city. He turned and looked at her expectantly.  
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” She groaned, tossing her legs over the side. “I got the message. What is it now?”  
She felt a pull, an urgency of some kind. No words, only the feeling of wariness. “Time-sensitive, eh?” She twirled her cane in her hand. “Alright, let’s go.”

The city was still recovering. It was not as it had been, and it probably never would be, but a pang of nostalgia hit whenever she heard the cheery voices of the townspeople. No matter what, people were the same. Determined to be alive.  
“Where we headed, Kosh?”  
The jackal turned a corner, tail raised in alarm.  
“That bad, huh?” She tightened her grip on the cane. Its enchantment responded to her magic, activating at her call. A passing merchant gave her and her glowing stick a suspicious side glance, but they paid no more mind. Alkosh turned another corner, and disappeared from sight.  
Cautiously, she followed him around the edge, and felt her mind be knocked off balance. For a moment, her vision blurred, and she felt as if she’d physically fall back. Something _extremely_ magical had sucker-punched her senses.  
Alkosh barked in alarm, growling at something she hadn’t yet focused on.  
The magic felt...familiar. Like the glowing lantern’s light, like the staff she held, like the day she named the jackal in front of her. But it was laced with something else. A tinge of...purple. Gold. Purple? Madness. Daedra. She felt the poisonous dance of its influence.  
In her trance, the barking had faded away, but now she’d regained her bearings.  
“Ma’am?” A child looked up at her, grinning. “Can I ask a-?”  
Alkosh was barking _at_ her now. His large ears pulled back as he looked up. She followed his gaze, and time seemed to slow. _Thanks._  
The falling bricks were a bittersweet sight to see. Beautiful and new, falling like rain.  
Pulling the child to her, she quickly pounded her staff on the ground, extending a glittering shield of magic over both their heads, and Alkosh. The muffled sound of the bricks clattering to the ground soothed her fear, and when the chorus ceased, she cautiously released her hold on the spell.  
“...Thank you.”  
She looked down, into shining golden eyes. “Are...you alright?”  
Black hair. “Yeah, I’m okay. I was gonna ask...what your name was.”  
“Dolvarin.” She gave a relieved chuckle. The urgent feeling passed. “What’s yours, kiddo?”  
“I’m Gwendolyn. You can call me Gwen.” She grinned. “Can I call you Olva?”  
“Olva. Hmm.” She beckoned to Alkosh. “A new one. I like it. If I can call you Gwen, little one, you can call me Olva. Sound like a deal?”  
“Deal!” Gwen’s eyes glittered in amusement. “And can….Can I pet your dog?”


End file.
